


honor and chivalry and a scotch on the rocks

by fuckitfireeverything



Category: Marvel, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2012-05-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 19:07:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckitfireeverything/pseuds/fuckitfireeverything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He doesn’t believe in knights, not in the traditional sense, and if he is what the news calls a hero — a disappointment of an alcoholic cloaked in metal and grovelling for redemption — the standards have been set rather low in relation to those heroes of olde. <br/>But sometimes when he lies in bed, he dreams of a handsome blond knight in shining red-and-blue armor, scaling Stark tower for a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	honor and chivalry and a scotch on the rocks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [madness_and_smiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madness_and_smiles/gifts).



When Tony is very small, sitting on the floor of Howard’s workshop disassembling and reassembling his toys with a tiny screwdriver, he thinks of the stories his mother tells him at night. Stories of knights and princesses; of princes who aren’t so much princes as handsome, well-meaning but mostly absent figureheads; of damsels who aren’t so much damsels as begrudging symbols of unjust patriarchy and could really take care of themselves, but there’s nothing wrong with letting a handsome knight do you a favor every once in awhile. Tony holds up a fully functioning remote controlled plane that was a fully functioning remote controlled truck only half an hour ago, beaming with pride, and when his father doesn’t glance over, he puts down the plane and wonders where all the knights are when you need them.

When Tony is not as small, sitting on the floor of his MIT dorm room disassembling and reassembling his life with a very alcoholic screwdriver, he thinks back to these same stories and then groans, head in his hands, and vomits all over his Thermal Fluids Engineering notebook, all thoughts of not-really-princes and not-really-damsels forced from his head. 

When Tony is grown — or, at least, they tell him he is, expect him to be, though he’s never really felt like he has grown in any way except a couple of inches and a goatee — he doesn’t remember these stories, not really. They’re somewhere in there, hidden under the blueprints and formulas and remorse, but if you asked Tony to tell a kid a bedtime story, he’d make Pepper or JARVIS or Rhodey do it instead. He doesn’t believe in knights, not in the traditional sense, and if he is what the news calls a hero — a disappointment of an alcoholic cloaked in metal and groveling for redemption — the standards have been set rather low in relation to those heroes of olde. 

But sometimes when he lies in bed, he dreams of a handsome blond knight in shining red-and-blue armor, scaling Stark tower for a kiss. 

He’s convinced himself, if he ever remembers these dreams, that he’s just mixing up stories. Blending his mom’s fairy tales with his father’s reminiscences of the super-soldier serum and the spangled man who took it. It’s the logical reason for the appearance of an hero who looks shockingly like Captain America in his dreams. And he can make himself believe that’s it, as well. At least, until Cap is found on ice and suddenly they’re thrown into battle together, thrown into living together, thrown into surviving this mess of a world with each other and their ever-changing team.

Because once that happens, and Tony’s still dreaming of this hero rescuing him — no, not rescuing, a damsel doesn’t need rescuing — and kissing him — okay, sure, admittedly it’s a bit less innocent and Disney-appropriate than just kissing — Tony knows he’s a goner.


End file.
